The Buddy System
by cosmic-omni
Summary: One-shots surrounding A Link Between Worlds.
1. curiosity

**Hello everyone,**

 **I'm back! I apologize for my absence, I've had the worst case of writers block and been having the worst few months but I've been spending each day just absorbed in my LOZ obsession, which does good for the soul as you know. I have been working on Broken Mirrors and Their Reflections, but I just have been feeling overly anxious about it and rewriting it constantly so it isn't ready just yet.**

 **Until I can prepare the most amazing BMTR chapter I can manage - which you all deserve for your patience I'm sorry - I'll be whipping up a few one-shots to post. I have this strange obsession with everything Link Between Worlds, especially Ravio cause he's adorable, so this fic will be strictly Link Between Worlds one-shots. Honestly, there should be so much more for this game because it was amazing.**

 **If you have any suggestions or comments, I would truly appreciate it.**

 **Thank you all so much for your support.**

* * *

 _curiosity_

It'd been a hard week to say the least. For those blessed by the golden goddesses, one would never see the horrors of the Dark Palace: the tricks of light, the invisible ledges, or those creepy voodoo statues that mocked his every move. He couldn't even remember how many times those guards shone laser beams at him, locked him in cells; how many times he slipped off a ledge he couldn't see or how many times those winders singed him with flames. And the goddesses themselves know how horrifying it was to be trapped into a pitch-black room with that jewel headed beast, only magnifying the pounding of his reptile legs as he charged towards him.

But seeing Gulley safe and alive in the Sacred Realm, well, it was all worth it. Plus, he found some Master Ore to forge the Master Sword with and he collected lots of Rupees – which was sure to help him if he ever wanted to buy that Fire Rod he'd been looking at.

Link would be sure to mention to the blacksmith and his wife that their son was safe once he stumbled back into Hyrule, which would have to wait until he took a short break. It required extra focus and energy to harness the strange bracelet his friend Ravio gave to him and to say it plainly, he was royally exhausted.

With the ring of his bell, an empty broom swept in from the stormy heavens and suspended before the hero. He felt both a sting of worry and a hint of interest every time Irene's ride approached him without a rider, but it didn't take long for him to realize that she was one of the many friends he'd made that went missing, which could only mean one thing: she was a sage as well.

The thing about Link was that he tended to overthink many situations, which was great when it came to puzzles and dungeons and all, but not so much when it came to real life. It often ended up with him looking from any and all perspectives, and probing for more details when he couldn't figure out an answer to a question, which led to putting pointless pressure on himself and setting his anxiety off. But, of course, he wasn't curious or nosy or anything; he was just invested.

As he grabbed hold of the wooden stick and observed the empty spot on the broom, his thoughts strayed to all the sages he uncovered and how each of his close companions unraveled secrets as he got closer and closer to his goal. He'd already saved Osfala, Seres, Queen Oren, and now Gulley from the paintings they embodied, but with each rescue, Link realized that the people he'd encountered since his journey began had stories of their own; stories that interconnected and completed a bigger picture he would've never imagined. He wondered how Irene fit into this and who were all the others?

The broom dropped him off before a vacant house in eerie silence, and Link slid into the walls of the house to avoid the Taros patrolling the yard. He sluggishly sidled across the cement until he reached the back, stumbling upon a makeshift stone blockage. With a wary search of his surroundings, he shifted from the wall with ease – he'd gotten used to the whole blending in with walls thing by now - and examined the jam nosily. He wasn't a curious one, honest, but how strange could it be to have such a cluster of rocks protruding from the side of a house?

Considering how well deserved a nap was and how invested he was on investigating the scene further, Link pulled out a bomb from his pouch and lit the fuse, stepping from the explosion and plugging his ears with his fingers seconds before it had a chance to burst. Once the fog settled and air cleared, he stumbled into the house sooner than the Taros could catch up.

The house was a mess. Both crates and furniture were stacked chaotically, blocking half the room from his standpoint; papers were scattered and jugs and bottles were stored on any surface, ready to tip off the edge. Link raised his eyebrows the slightest and scratched the back of his head in discomfort; he was never one to be disorganized, mostly because he lived alone and didn't have much to disorder. The sight overwhelmed his senses, resurfacing an anxiety that bubbled in his chest.

He rolled his taut shoulders to ease some tension before he shuffled deeper into the house, searching for a place to rest; there was no way he was ready to return to Hyrule just yet, he was beat.

However, before he could decide whether he should try to make way through the wall of furniture or whether he could find a bed in the mix, a bright teal book lying on a desk caught his eye. But what unsettled him was the illustration on the cover was a purple rabbit with a golden rim; it reminded him strangely of a certain cowl he knew…

Biting his lip, Link considered whether it was really in him to read someone else's journal. He couldn't be sure what contents laid within it, with what emotion and secrecy the writer wrote his or her entries in. He couldn't just betray their trust to unlock those personal, intimate, surprisingly enticing confidences…

If he could just sneak a peek – it wasn't the curiosity speaking, _really_ – maybe the book could reveal some amazing secret or tip that could help him on his journey. Once he decided that that mindset seemed most reasonable, he flipped the book open to one of the later dates.

3 Days to Go

She wants to do the right thing.

I wish I could help her.

But leaving is my only option.

Link only furrowed his brow in frustration at the indirect statements; who was she? Where was this person going? With pursed lips, he flipped through the next pages.

2 Days to Go

She's being duped. Doesn't she realize that?

He's just a leech.

There's no choice but to go.

1 Day to Go

I have so little magic. Enough to go there – maybe not to come back.

But tomorrow must be the day.

I may never see her again, but I vow to save her from all of this.

It caused an ache inside of him as he read the emotion poured onto the page, as his fingers absently traced the dry tear stains. Whomever they may be, they obviously cared so deeply for their friend that they would give up anything for them; Link, in all his courage, couldn't imagine being brave enough to do that. The hero curled his finger beneath the page, holding his breath, and flipped it over to search for more information, but each page past that was blank.

He gawked in surprise, combing frantically through the lined sheets for more details. As he scanned through previous entries, he came to realize that every name was designated by pronouns as if the writer had something to hide from anyone who could enter his or her house.

With an surprised grunt, he dropped the pages so that the last entry settled before him.

His blue eyes scanned the words over and over again; he'd been through six dungeons by that point, he should've been able to solve this puzzle! But alas, it didn't make sense. All Link knew was that Yuga made a mess of both Hyrule and Lorule in order to awaken the Demon King of legend – but who was she? Did this have anything to do with the ' _grace'_ Yuga had been mumbling about a while back? How could leaving help her?

But then, he wondered, where could he have gone? If this journal really did have anything to do with Ravio – the mysterious and faceless merchant residing in his own home – then he could've somehow escaped to Hyrule to save this person. But that… it seemed so out of character for his overly excitable and cowardly friend. Ravio did everything to annoy the heck out of Link: residing in his home rent-free and yet still sucking his rupee pouch dry, rearranging his furniture, and over-energetically jumping around when he had a headache, but the hero couldn't deny that he cared for Ravio's well-being. The hooded man was always lifting his spirits when he was down and taking care of him when he was wounded, and he was always great company.

But if this journal had anything to do with his friend, then could that mean that Ravio was Lorulean, that he too had a secret Link had yet to find out?

With a newfound burst of energy, he slipped the journal into his pouch and escaped the house, defeating the Taros with one slash. So maybe that was little violent even for him and maybe he did slip into the portal a little fast.

He couldn't help it, he was curious.


	2. impulsive marriage aside

**Hey everyone!**

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Guest: Thank you so much! I know, Ravio's very sly, isn't he? Though, it does make for a great plot! ;)**

 **James Birdsong: Thank you friend! It's been long!**

 **For this one-shot, I guess all I can say is that I was inspired but I somehow forgot how to write. I'm sorry if I disappoint.**

 **Let me know what you think. Also, any one-shot suggestions would be great! Thank you :)**

* * *

 _impulsive marriage aside_

"I understand your indifference to my offer, but this is hardly a time to behave in such a way," she scolds, keeping her hands firmly pressed against her desk. The sheets are no longer spread wildly across the room, the rift in the wall long gone, and every shattered piece of her priceless porcelain has been swept away. But now her study is just as hectic as she's used to, as her most trusted vassal and loyal friend stands at the other side of the desk, waving his arms frantically in his disposition – with no exception to Sheerow of course.

For a brief moment, he presses his hands against his chest and breathes deeply to regain composure. This, she finds, is the best time to break through to him. "And what is it, pray tell, that's so terrible about being betrothed to me?"

His wide, olive eyes reach her, focused now, and he shakes his head. "It - It's not being married _to_ _you_ that's the problem, Your Highness, I just…" He pauses for a moment, gaze lost once more, and asks, "Have you even thought this through? I mean, isn't this a little-?"

"Sudden," she finishes. She knows he's going to say it because she's been feeling the same way. But after six years of mending a kingdom as best as she can, it's time for her to take the ultimate responsibility of being a monarch; as part of the Lorulean tradition, she must wed before her coronation.

It's ridiculous, truly, to be forced into such a trivial ceremony when her kingdom is finally shaping up to be the land everyone has long awaited; finally her people are looking well-fed, the chasms are slowly closing in, and the crime rate's gone down significantly. Of course, the people are still living in poor conditions and there's still a lot of structural damage to be taken care of, not to mention the horrible trade position they're in, but at least they're getting _somewhere_.

Maybe Lorule isn't as magnificent as it could be or as other kingdoms are, but there's so much hope in the people's eyes after so long that all that extra time and focus is worth it. For the first time in her life, she can see the tears in the seams of her broken kingdom mending; perhaps it can be whole once more.

But even during the decades of decline, her ancestors followed the same tradition in order to keep the royal bloodline alive and thriving – in all the places the kingdom wasn't. Even she, though she'd hate to admit it, must take that responsibility upon herself.

"I too feel that way," she admits. Her staff clicks against the stone floor as she circles the desk to approach him. She thinks that maybe he'll feel more comfortable if they aren't speaking like it's a meeting, but rather a friend-to-friend conversation – impulsive marriage aside. "But this is something I must do and I only have a few months left before my coronation. The council decided that an event such as this would do well for the kingdom; it would inspire the people and bring together the kingdoms we've long distanced from. I hardly think that we have the time or rupees to spend like this but they've simply argued that if my ancestors could have managed to wed, then there is no reason I can present to stop the tradition. I am at a standstill and I need your support."

His eyes dart side to side and he steps back a bit; Sheerow dashes behind him. He's looking for a place to escape, she knows, because she's seen him do it before.

"I don't…you…! You should marry a prince! It'd be a great help to Lorule, what with the whole Rupee deficiency problem we've got going on, yeah?"

It's her turn to shake her head. "Lorule has hardly been able to support it's own weight, much less maintain strong ties with foreign lands. All the kingdoms know of us are from legends, and even that carries our shame and misfortune. It's already asking much of the monarchs to trust in our kingdom enough to reconnect with and visit. I am afraid it's just unrealistic at this time."

She feels her confidence falter for a moment as the reality of the situation falls over her; has she really been driven to such desperation again, to beg for a husband this way? "Is it truly asking so much of you to take my hand?"

His frantic gaze latches onto hers and this time it doesn't let go. She watches as the gears turn in his head while he processes what to say next; if it's taken so long, she's not sure if she wants to know his answer. "I would do anything for you, Your Highness, you know that…But this - I can't do it. I'm sorry."

Heat swells in her gut and she can feel foul words clawing at her throat, begging to escape. She wants to demand an answer; she wants to cry. What's so horrible about this offer? Are they no longer as close as she thought? Is he still upset over her unrighteous and immoral actions in Hyrule? Has she truly lost his trust?

"Don't-" he interrupts her thoughts as if he understands where they're leading her. "Please don't think this is some kind of weird, perverse vengeance or something like that, princess. You should trust _by now_ -"

"I do trust you," she interrupts. Even she catches on that she's made a habit of it, which is just ghastly of her, but she's _possibly_ feeling as troubled as he is. "That's precisely why I ask of this from you, Ravio; there's no man in Lorule I could trust enough with my kingdom, and my hand."

His upper lip twitches as she speaks, but once she finishes, he presses the hand that rests against his robe to his forehead, beneath his messy purple hair and above his frantic green eyes. She realizes then just how flushed he's become.

Her heart sinks. "I know that this is a lot to take in and I truly am sorry to thrust this upon you so suddenly." She licks her lips, instinctively tightening her grip on her staff. "You've already done so much for both myself and the kingdom that I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't truly have need of it. It's just that…I'm so afraid. The kingdom is still indifferent about the monarchy and thieves are only just mending their ways. I'm not sure I can find another that I could trust, or that could trust me enough to wed. I apologize, Ravio but I…I need you." His eyes are wide and his heart pounds as she finishes her plea.

"Please say that you are with me on this."

* * *

"Ouch!"

The needle flies out of his hand and his finger presses against his lips, sucking the blood from his miniscule wound. It truly does hurt – he's _not_ acomplete wimp, so Sheerow perches down onto his shoulder when he hears his cry and curls against his scarf with sympathy. While leaning against him, the ivory bird examines his master's work, which lays sprawled onto his bed; a violet pattern against a soft purple backdrop is in the making. Half of a tapestry is half done.

Another Lorulean tradition is to have both fiancés sew half a tapestry and stitch it together on the night of their marriage to consummate their unity. Most commoners don't tell the other what to depict in their piece until they can see for themselves, and if their halves match, then their minds and hearts are in sync and they're destined to be with one another. Royals however cannot jeopardize this, so they discuss their piece in privacy weeks prior to the event.

In honor of the renewal of the sacred gift, the soon to be weds decide to embed the Triforce into their tapestry, alongside the wings of the Lorulean crest. It's going to be beautiful, he knows, and even his half is looking decent - or at least that's what he tells himself. If one would squint and tilt his head, they can just about make out the wings.

"Tell me again how I got caught up in this mess."

The bird peeps consolingly, sensing his master's troubled heart through a wavelength. "You'd think she'd want a guy that could at least sew, yeah? I mean me, of all people, she chooses me!"

He sends the next thread through the tapestry a little harsher than necessary and Sheerow shrills in warning, as if saying _slow down, idiot; she doesn't need a punctured king_! "Maybe all that stress really is getting to her. She could use a good sleep - then when she wakes up, she'll finally realize how crazy this is." Poking himself once more, he throws up his hands, groans in frustration, and jumps off the bed. He rests his fist on his chin, completely ignorant of the pulsing on the pad of his index finger as he paces the room. Sheerow, meanwhile, hops to rest on the foot of his bed, his tiny head following his master's tread.

"I mean, she's the princess, right?" The bird chirps in confirmation, but Ravio's so lost in thought that he doesn't catch it. "She's so graceful and strong and…and royal! And goddesses know how beautiful she is…how devoted and kind…!" he murmurs to himself, feeling his face heat up against his hand. "I mean…she's a good person, right? She deserves a good king to rule by her, not some stupid, lazy, cowardly…" As he drones on, throwing each insult that comes to mind, Sheerow swoops in and perches on his shoulder once more, pecking him out of his daze.

"Hey! What was that for?"

The irritated bird ruffles his feathers and Ravio instantly understands what he means.

"…Thanks buddy. But…you agree, don't you? I just don't understand why she would choose me, out of everyone she could've chosen…"

He stops his pace in front of the painting of Lorule castle that he's managed to hang back on his wall again and stares at it for a long moment. His new home…how could this be happening so fast? It feels like just yesterday he was packing his bags, headed to the unknown…

His fist pounds beside the picture so that it shutters a bit against the peach walls, and leans his head against fist. "I couldn't save her, Sheerow. How can I be her king?"

* * *

On the day of her wedding, Hilda gazes upon her reflection in a body length mirror. Her maids circle her and touch up on any last minute adjustments, but she doesn't move even when they prick her with pins and needles. Her ivory dress hugs her chest; her lace sleeves start off her shoulder until they tighten around her wrists. From her waist down, the skirt fans out so that it trails behind her in a wave of white fabric, her back is marked with floral lace, and finally, an ornate ruby diadem rests over her head.

She's beautiful, the ladies praise, cooing and fawning over her in her wedding gown. Some of them don't even like her, she knows; they enjoy the gossip they can claim to possess – though she'd never reveal any information to any of them - but they have no faith in her abilities. Sure, the Triforce has returned, but it's up to her to rebuild the kingdom and she was nothing but a stoic, stubborn monarch. Worse of all, she's the most foolish ruler they've ever had, even considering the ancestors whom destroyed the relic in the first place.

The maids attach a long, lace veil to the back of her diadem, squealing in excitement, and she hugs the fabric tightly against her as if it can shield her from their irritating habits.

But she doesn't need to think of her maids, at least not for today. She wonders what Ravio would think of her, in this dress and with this veil. How terrifying it seems to be wedded to him. It feels like it was just yesterday when he would sing to her in the empty castle walls, easing her worries and lifting her spirits when she had such little faith in the world. Oh how she cared for that silly rabbit of hers. If only she can be sure that this decision won't tear a rift in her friendship; she's already driven enough fissures in her lifetime.

He was so upset at her proposition that it still causes her pain when she recalls the memory; that's no way to start a marriage, she thinks. In the stories she once read as a child, she learned that love is the only kind, bright thing her kingdom can always hold onto, even when the world is driven to it's knees. And marriage, the sacred ceremony of uniting a couple, can only be the most divine moment in a couple's life.

But for Ravio and her, it's a marriage for convenience, though she'd never admit her heart longs for something more. She knows this is false hope, wishful thinking, but the aching feeling lingers even after she tries to push it away. He's her closest friend, the one she admires and trusts more than anyone else, and he's only ever looked out for her in return. Perhaps she is foolish, but goddesses help her, she's loved him for so long.

After the maids relinquish their hold on her, Hilda lifts her skirts into her hands and steps from her pedestal, allowing herself one last look at her reflection. Before she follows her maids out, her gaze shifts to the tapestry on her nightstand, where one half awaits to finally be whole.

* * *

He tugs at his bowtie uncomfortably at the end of the altar, feeling the judging glares of the royals and the curious gazes of the people biting at him. "Gee," he murmurs to Sheerow, who sits patiently on his shoulder, "it's quite the turn-out. Who knew there were this many people around?"

Sheerow simply whirrs in response, given the instruction to sit quietly if he wished to participate. Ravio wouldn't mind his verbal support, though.

The ceremony takes place at the chapel within the castle, a large room of worship often used by the Royal Family for events such as these. The silver marble is waxed to shine and a golden light pours in from the stained glass windows.

He knows that Hilda had always wanted a scenic wedding, where the birds sang brightly and the sun shone on their backs, but Lorule is hardly such a sight just yet. An indoor wedding doesn't quite match up to her wishes, but it should suffice. He isn't even sure she cares at this point anyways, since it's only a marriage of convenience; she just wants to get it over with.

The musicians begin playing a traditional ballad as a young girl bounces down the aisle, a daughter of one of the attendants in the castle. The couple doesn't have many close ties or family members to associate in the wedding, so the march is short and simple before the bride is cued.

Ravio can feel his skin crawling and stomach churning as he awaits her entrance, completely immersed with anxiety and anticipation. And then, as she steps through the mahogany doors, he realizes too quickly that no amount of preparation could prepare him for this.

His jaw drops in the most improper way but he doesn't even notice, nor care, because she's walking towards him with her eyes trained on him and _goddesses_ she's so beautiful.

He doesn't recall a time he's seen her dressed in white or with her violet hair tied up off her neck or even holding a bouquet of flowers but he thinks it looks marvelous. Part of him wants to stop this so she can marry any of these worthy men with deep pockets. The other part wants to stop this so he can find a way to reverse time and be the man she deserves. If only there's a song he could sing or play; that would solve everything.

Hilda steps onto the altar with utmost grace, only removing her gaze from him to look upon the minister, who shares a bow with her. His eyes don't leave her. The bouquet falls into the hands of a maid and her hands reach out for his. Shakily, he gulps and presses his palms against hers, feeling her warmth travel up his neck to the tips of his pointy ears. He wonders if she can feel his limbs trembling, but then she knots her fingers into his and he realizes it doesn't matter.

The procession continues for a long while as the minister recites legend and virtue, until finally they're handed two finely crafted golden bands. Ravio stares nervously at the gleam of the ring her nimble fingers pick up while she balances his hand with the other. It slides onto his finger with ease. He mocks her actions with a shaky hand and looks up to see her crimson eyes are glazed over.

Is she really moved? Or is this just another ploy?

He can't help smiling back, a crooked, toothy grin, and feels tears well up in his own eyes.

At long last, the minister asks each partner if they would accept the other. Hilda takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes for a brief moment, but when she opens them again, a beautiful smile tugs at her purple lips. Oh goddesses, he thinks, how unfair.

"I do," she promises.

He can hear the minister ask if he will take her hand and Ravio realizes this is his last chance; he can escape to another world once more and save her from this crazy idea she had. But with her looking upon him, so alluring and intoxicating, he feels like he really doesn't have a chance after all.

With an embarrassingly shaky voice, he murmurs, "I do." His cheeks flush only further – how stupid he must sound! - before he clears his throat and tries again. "I do," he repeats more clearly, and Hilda's smile deepens. He can't help but grin sheepishly in return, lowering his head in embarrassment.

The minister smiles knowingly beside them as he watches this encounter and says, "By the power of the goddesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Ravio's eyes widen, his skin burns brightly, and he slowly looks up to her again. Hilda smiles welcomingly, seemingly comfortable with the situation, and tightens her grip on his hands to share that comfort with him. He holds his breath as he leans in quickly, meeting her lips so suddenly. It's her turn to look upon in surprise, but soon finds herself melting into him, his warmth and his softness overtaking all other senses. He exhales through his nose and she smiles against him. The princess doesn't let go of his hands even as he pulls back with the rosiest face she's ever seen on the nervous boy. His eyes slowly open, and she sighs against him when she spots the golden gleam in his olive irises.

* * *

The ball is a success. Commoners rejoice, finally allowing their worries dissipate as they converse with long lost friends, their laughter ringing in the ballroom as melodious as the ensemble of pianists and harpists. Even royals enjoy themselves as Hilda greets them with utmost grace and certainty, promising peace and advantageous trade. As the princess socializes with all the guests, Ravio stands at her side or waits patiently at his seat, but his eyes never leave her. And as he stares, he finds himself longing for a time he knows he shouldn't. He sorely misses his childhood with her, and how much easier it was when he knew he was of help to her troubled heart. Ravio knows it's wrong; Lorule is in better conditions and Hilda's so much happier, but he can't help it. He can't do anything for her now, and watching her from afar on their wedding day, he feels more separated from his bride than ever.

This bunny rabbit of a man couldn't socialize and host a ball as extravagant as this, catering to the wishes of the people and pleasing the royalty like she is. He hardly knows what a successful kingdom looks like, much less know how to _rule_ one. How can Hilda so easily shift into her noble nature? Or better yet, why is he so incompetent? All these men, these potential suitors, and she chose the man who knows nothing and can accomplish nothing, for what reason?

He sighs into his wine glass and stares at her back, masked with lace. Goddesses, he thinks, this would be so much easier if he didn't care for her like he knew he does.

Much later, the couple excuse themselves from the ballroom to participate the last part of the ceremony in privacy. They don't speak as they walk through the empty halls and Ravio finds himself fidgeting with the jacket of his suit. This marriage will ruin everything, he thinks. Why do things always have to be so difficult for them?

As they reach the large room, the newly hired guards step aside, and his wife dismisses them for the night. He holds his breath.

The door creaks as it opens, revealing a large room lit warmly with candles and firelight. Some of the servants must have set up the room for them while they were away, he realizes.

There are tapestries on the walls with finer depictions of the Triforce, which look as though they've been refurbished after being abandoned for generations. There are paintings of Lorule as it once looked: a land prosperous and full of hope. Bookshelves line the walls, pots and vases are filled with freshly picked red flowers, and velvet seats are arranged in front of the fireplace with a cozy woolen rug underneath.

"It's uh…nice," he says from the doorway, scratching his neck nervously. Sheerow flutters off his shoulder to observe the room more thoroughly. "It's much bigger than I thought, actually."

It's true; as a child, he grew up in his small house in the middle of Lorule field. Sure, he's served Hilda for a long time, slipping in and out of the castle so often that he knows of the luxuries by heart. But like the rest of the commoners, he's never seen a room this big or furniture this nice. It's strange, but the poor boy in him feels giddy at this change.

"I agree, but I'm sure we can get used to this adjustment. By all means, Ravio, make yourself comfortable. This is your new home, after all."

With a boyish tendency, he follows behind the trail of her wedding dress, and realizes both halves of the tapestries have been delivered and rest on the canopy bed. Her side looks so neat with not a seam out of place. How fitting, he thinks.

Hilda approaches his side and smiles the slightest, reaching out to touch the fabric of his half. "You did well," she comments. He smiles sheepishly.

"Thanks, but yours looks much better. You sure make a better seamstress than me."

"Now don't say that," scolds she, with a note of humor in her voice. "As long as _we_ know what it is…"

He scowls and she laughs the slightest, slapping his arm playfully. "I only jest, Ravio. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll get the sewing equipment. Why don't you take a seat by the fire?"

"Uh sure…don't you wanna get outta that dress, though? It looks awfully uncomfortable." When she looks at him curiously, he blushes fiercely and waves his hands frantically. "No, I don't – I just meant get changed! Really!"

She laughs as she opens the drawer one of the shelves. "That's quite alright, Ravio. I'd prefer to perform the ceremony first if that's alright with you."

He mumbles in reply, sighing inwardly; another thing she just wants to get over with. The princess comes over to the garnet sofa with a box of needles and thread, and sets it gently between them.

"Are you ready?" she asks. Ravio gulps and nods.

Two purple threads slip into two needles and the couple shares an affirmative nod before they dive into opposite halves and return to their personal side. Their needles perform a dance, bounding from side to side, crossing over one another, and intertwining the two fabrics into one. Like the Triforce, like Lorule, broken halves mend into a whole, and as each needle plummets through the tapestry, they are closer to their union as husband and wife.

There is a beauty in their concentration; the only sounds that can be heard are the crackling of the fire and his racing heartbeat. His bride is bathed in the orange glow of the firelight, and for a brief moment, his threading stops and he is immersed in the sight of her. Hilda seems so focused, so devoted, as her nimble fingers send the needle through another loop. Her eyebrows are knitted just the slightest, her tongue protruding from between her purple lips.

His eyes close, his hands lower, and his head bows the slightest. She finally looks up. "Is something the matter, Ravio?" she asks, her voice at a whisper.

As his eyes open once again, his gaze locks onto the fire and he shakes his head. "No, nothing's wrong, princess."

She furrows her brow. "Don't lie to me, Ravio. And you no longer have to be so formal with me; I am your wife after all." He simply sighs. "What is it?"

He contemplates whether he should tell her; what's the point? It can't be undone now. But he can feel his guilt eating at him; how can she once again not realize her mistake? His eyes never leave the fire as he finally asks, "Why did you choose me?"

The bride looks taken back by his question. Has she not already explained this to him? She cocks her head, and he can't help but look back at her now. "I thought I told you Ravio, I trust you; your judgment and your morals. I know you have no intention of misusing the power and advantage that comes with being royal, and…I know that you care for Lorule deeply, and for me as well."

He wants to laugh at the irony; it's how much he cares for her that's making this so difficult. "But I'm not well-suited for this and you know that! I'm not loaded or brave or even honest like Link was. Don't you want someone like that? Someone that can help you…and Lorule?"

She sets her hands down with a huff. "How could you think such a thing?" He cringes at her tone but she continues. "I know that you're not perfect Ravio and neither am I, but that does not mean you're without strength. You are wise, even wiser than I am as you could see through Yuga's plot where I couldn't. You are also kind, compassionate, and faithful. And most importantly, Ravio, you're my best friend." His eyes light up a little at her last comment. "I wouldn't have any other man by my side for the rest of my life."

She seems to catch herself and blushes the slightest, lowering her head in embarrassment. His eyes widen and his lips part as if ready to respond, but unsure of how to. "You…you mean that?"

Hilda contemplates for a moment, inhales deeply, and looks directly at him once more. "Of course I do." She twiddles with the needle in her fingers for a moment as she wonders whether she should tell him of her feelings. If she has already risked their relationship by forcing him into this marriage, shouldn't he at least know of why – the _true_ reason? It's risky and nerve-wracking to even think of, but they are married now and Hilda isn't sure how else she could screw up their relationship.

She sighs at long last and starts tentatively, "There is something you should know." Ravio looks at her patiently but it only makes things all the more harder. "I…I have not been completely honest. I did not just ask you for your hand for convenience…I've come to realize how much I truly care for you and trust you; you've always been by my side, and you've always been there for me even when I didn't deserve your kindness.

"But you're also bright, hopeful, and so full of life and…Ravio, I…I think I'm in love with you." Hilda waits engrossed by her anxiety as he stares: slack jawed and wide-eyed at her revelation. For only a moment longer, she entertains him, but eventually she presses, "Rav-"

He glomps on her. "Oh Hilda!" he cries into her veil, tears welling up in his eyes and fabric bunching up between them. "You don't understand what that means to me…! I…I love you so much, but I'm so afraid…so afraid you could find someone better. But…do you really?"

She winds her arms around his back and grabs onto his shoulders instinctively, hearing him mumble his words of affection and sincerity against her and yet she still can't believe it; he returns her affection? She pulls him off of her enough to look him in his eyes, those beautiful emerald irises, and she smiles warmly. "I do, really." His eyes clench shut, thanking the goddesses, and the tears slip out and down his cheeks.

Before he can open his eyes again, she leans in and kisses him softly, deeply, and he squeaks in surprise. Hilda was never one for skipping out on chances, after all.

Ravio feels himself warm up by a hundred degrees and loses his balance, so he grabs onto the sofa behind him. It takes a while before he responds, but when he does, she couldn't be any gladder. Their kisses are soft and cautious, and she even opts to kissing his cheeks down to his neck when he whines in approval.

"I think you were right," she says with a smirk; he stops, winded and flustered and covered in purple lipstick, to look at her curiously. "Perhaps this dress is too stuffy after all."


	3. cucco soup for the soul

**Hello everyone!**

 **Thank you to tothelibrary and Taium the Fire Paladin for adding this collection to their favorite's list!**

 **Responses to Reviews**

 **Unregistereduser: Thank you soo much! You are so sweet, your review made my week 3 And thank you for your suggestions. Honestly, I ship Ravioli too (who wouldn't, they're adorable), but I'm poorly uninspired at the moment. This is a short one-shot that I wrote a while back that's kinda Ravioli so I hope you like it. But I'll try and whip up some of your other suggestions! Thanks again :)**

 **Thanks for everyone's support so far. I'm terribly sorry for my lack of/horrible writing. I'm so passionate about these games, especially right now, but I have such a terrible writer's block. Worst combination ever.**

 **I hope you enjoy regardless. :)**

* * *

 _cucco soup for the soul_

A purple clad man sits in the center of the room with his worn-out bag slouching beside him, strings loosened, rupees spilling out. He holds a silver rupee between two fingers and brings it up to his face to inspect its legitimacy with utmost dedication.

"Hmm," he hums to himself. "I dunno bud, what do you think?" He says this even though his only customer has never let him down, even though his only customer is a man _chosen_ _by_ _the_ _gods_ , because he really doesn't have anything better to do. Heck, if it weren't for Link slipping in once and a while, Ravio might've gone insane waiting for someone to stop that crazy clown back in Lorule. Well, yes, technically _he_ should be the one to stop him but still…

The doorknob squeaks as it turns and Ravio immediately jumps up, drops his hood, and kicks his bag – very carefully – so that it's hidden beneath the table. When the wooden door swings open, Link shuffles into the house as though a weight is carried on his shoulders.

"Welcome home, Mr. Hero!" Ravio greets excitedly; who wouldn't be excited for more profit? But Link simply sniffles and rubs his nose against his sleeve before slouching down against a wall. " _Hero_?!" Ravio gasps, and Sheerow swoops in from his side to hop around the blond in a panic.

Link simply waves away his rehearsed _you can't die just yet_ speech with a grunt, but this doesn't do much for the hooded man's racing heartbeat. "What did you do _this_ time? You look horrible!"

Gee, thanks, Link thinks. But it kind of hurts to talk right now and he really just wants to close his eyes for a few seconds; he'll feel better afterwards. "'S okay," he answers in a raspy voice, "need sleep."

"Don't be silly!" Ravio yells suddenly and Link recoils until his head smacks against the wall. Well that certainly doesn't help the headache that's been banging around in his head since Dharkstare blasted him with those ice crystals. Ravio jumps up and circles the tables until he reaches the small kitchen in the corner, and begins pilfering through the cupboards. Sheerow picks up anything his friend requests, chirping at his side.

With the ease of a professional chef, Ravio slices through carrots, cucco, and celery and plops them into a large pot with exaggerated flips. It takes an effort to keep his eyes open, but Link's sourly curious about whatever Ravio's cooking up over in _his_ kitchen, and stays awake long enough to hear the purple clad man's humming as he stirs the pot.

He doesn't wake up again until Ravio's sitting right up in front of him, holding a ladle up to his mouth. "Try this," he orders sternly and Link yelps once his fuzzy vision settles on the large eyes of the rabbit cowl. Somehow, the hero realizes, he's ended up on his bed, tucked in with a blanket up to his neck – he's sure the bird resting on the headboard's got something to do with it; he's much stronger than one would initially think.

But really, Link's more concerned with the hot soup that's being forced down his throat, and he swallows quickly even though it smarts. "'S good," Link mumbles through a stinging tongue and nods with his neck bent a little funny. He wipes his mouth with his finger. "What is it?"

Ravio waits a moment for Link to realize his stupid question before answering, "Cuccoo soup." The ladle scoops another spoonful before he holds it up again. "You should know one of my _many_ special qualities is cooking. You won't find better soup than this in two worlds, no siree."

"You don't need to-"

"Hush, hero," he orders as he sticks the spoon into his mouth again. "Now how'd you get sick? You know you're supposed to be taking better care of yourself out there! I don't want to hear about you keeling over before you save those sages," he catches himself, "or whatever it is that you're doing."

"I'm _fine_ ," he murmurs. "Just need sleep and I'll be okay."

"You _need_ my soup. Then you'll sleep."

Link really doesn't mind, the soup tastes pretty good actually, but he kind of just wants to go and save the sage he know is waiting for him up in that mountain. He knows what it's like to be a painting – it's not a good feeling if you're wondering – but he could at least get out of it. He wants the same for his friends.

"Look at it this way, how much help can you be if you can barely keep your eyes open? How about if you're dead?" He shakes his head sternly and Sheerow pips in agreement. "Now shut up and eat this so I can go back to tending my shop."


	4. portrait

**Hello everyone,**

 **Thank you to DrewB1442 for following!**

 **Responses to Reviews:**

 **Unregistereduser: I guess that's true, it's more fluffy than anything else. In my head though, I imagined Ravio was caring for Link out of _deep_ affections ;) ;), but it was brief and simple, so it was more friendship based. I would love to do a continuation but the idea was so simple I can't see it going very far. Blame that dumb block of mine! Luckily I've got another idea brewing for that couple that'll be much cuter and more romantic ;)) Haha anyways, this one was inspired by one of your suggestions so I really do hope you like it! Thank you for your support!**

 **Ragnar: Omg XD! That's definitely going to be bobbing in my head for awhile, and I'll try to think of a way to write something like that. Thank you for your suggestion!**

 **This is a YugaxHilda one-shot inspired by my friend who goes by Unregistereduser. I hope everyone enjoys!**

 **Suggestions are welcome as well :)**

* * *

 _portrait_

She's done it again. Though Hilda's been told time and time again not to step past the palace doors, she's slipped through the very thin line of defense, daring to see what lies beyond.

Her frail arms and legs pump as she approaches the final boundary: the castle gates, and slows to a halt as she comes face to face with the iron steel bars. The gate's rusted, and leaves behind the sharp odor of blood. Her white gloves graze the surface of the iron, staining them with ash and soot, and she draws them away with disdain; her advisor's always chastised her for her filthy habits and she knows she'll get an earful for this.

Her red eyes search the courtyard hastily for an exit lest somebody find her at the last moment, until they land on prickly and unkempt wooden vines. The princess mindlessly licks her purple lips - undoubtedly fading it's vibrant color – before she races towards it and grabs hold on the vines. The thorns find their way into the fabric of her gloves, slicing into her skin and marking her with her own blood, but she pays no mind to the scars and scratches as she heaves herself up one bristle at a time.

As she nears the top, Hilda comes to the startling realization that her weight is too heavy; she can feel the wood begin to give beneath her. Her heart pounds a little quicker and she can feel beads of sweat coat her skin, but she presses on. At last, a twig snaps beneath her grasp and her heart finally stops beating altogether for a brief moment. Her hands scramble for a hold on dead leaves, on a loose branch, _anything_ , until they touch the top of the wall. She holds her breath as she pushes herself upward, arms sore and head pounding, until her knees scrape against the dirty wall and her head rises.

For the first time, unrestrained by walls, the princess sees the full majesty of Lorule before her. She's always dreamed of what it would look like, feel like, when she saw it for the first time; she wasn't ignorant, she knew that the kingdom hasn't been thriving. But here, staring at all corners of the southern field, she can't help feeling disappointed.

Almost all the land, grass, and trees are dead; any of it that isn't is already dying. The buildings and structures are crumbling beneath themselves, unlike the sturdy walls of the castle that she's grown up in. The air is cold but there is no wind. The world is at a standstill and Lorule is dead.

The princess releases the breath she'd been holding with a breathy sigh and the illusion of the still world shatters like glass. She can spot a bandit of thieves gathering at a crook of one of the corroded buildings and see the shadows of lurkers merging with the leaves'. There is an echo of wolf howls and screams coming from somewhere near the village and for a brief moment she actually wishes the world were motionless again.

But her heart longs for her kingdom's wellbeing, and though she knows better than it, she finds herself climbing down the other side of the wall and racing towards the sound of the scream. The small town is nothing more than barren land with discolored buildings scattered about, and the world is so quiet she isn't sure anyone's living here anymore. But where did the scream come from?

Her hands shake and she takes a hesitant step onto the dirt-smeared cobblestones. "Hello?" she calls, not truly expecting an answer in response. Her voice mocks itself as though it's lonely, as though even it expects no one to respond.

Within moments, people masked by hoods and cloaks emerge from the shadows, crawling towards her so ominously that she finds herself stepping back.

"Well, well, well lookit what we have here," says a low voice, "it's the lil' princess."

A tall man rolls his shoulder and cracks his neck as he steps in closer. "Whatcha doin' here, girly, got lost from the castle or somethin'?" He snorts and the crew laughs. "I'll give you a hint; it's the large, shiny buildin' with all the _real_ crooks."

She holds a hand to her chest, red eyes wide. "I…I'm sorry, I just thought-"

"Thought?" one mocks. "Whattya know, a royal who uses her brain!"

"Ha, couldn't be," dismisses a man in a black cape, "we haven't had one o' those, well, ever."

Hilda could feel a hot, tense anger bubble in her chest; who were these people to ridicule her ancestors like this?

"Look," she starts with a voice that sounds tougher than she feels, straightening her posture, "I don't know who you think you are, but I-"

Before the words could escape her, a fist blows against her chin and knocks her to ground; she holds her dirty glove to her hand as she looks up in horror. "Who are _you_ to talk to us like that, you filthy noble?" the tall man bellows above her, and they all swarm around her. She feels a kick in her stomach and she lets out a cry.

"You stupid brat, stealing from us!"

"You don't know what we've been through! What it's like out here!"

A woman in torn clothes kneels down and pulls at Hilda's ruby necklace, so much that it chokes her and she can see the heat in the ruffian's eyes. "We starve, we hunt, so you can wear this." She rips it off her neck and small beads of silver bounce on the cobblestones beneath them.

She can hear the hatred, the anger, the pain in their voice and her heart races; what has been happening in Lorule?

"No! _Please_ ," she begs, tears welling in her eyes. " _I'm sorry_. Please!"

They pull at her hair, tear at her clothes, and rob her blind before he comes to her rescue. With a graceful wave of his hand, the swarm is pushed aside as though an intense, brilliant wind has blown them from her.

At last, a wind blows in the flat, dead air.

* * *

"What have I told you?" scolds he, and his harsh voice reverberates in the large, empty room.

The princess knows what's coming; she's awaited this lecture since the moment she stepped foot in the courtyard, but she still grimaces at the tone of his voice.

They sit in the security, the privacy, of her room; she's seated in the velvet seat at her vanity and Yuga sits across from her in a comfortable armchair. The ruffians were right, she realizes; they live in such poverty and yet she owns luxuries like this. Her hand rubs against the velvet and her skin crawls as the rich fabric brushes against her glove.

A moist towel wipes across her face, washing away the makeup, the dirt, the blood. It leaves a trail of cleanliness in its wake; it's the process of removing a mask and she feels cold and vulnerable.

"Do you see, now, why I tell you not to go out there? Lorule is not safe for a fine young lady like you." He drops the towel onto his lap and tips a bottle of alcohol onto a cloth. "This will sting," he warns, and presses the fabric all over her skin, cleaning away the uncleanliness, purifying her skin. She winces when he presses against a particularly purple bruise, but overall, she feels safe in his hands.

He has the talent of an artist; every stroke is gentle and smooth, and his wild eyes are tame and focused. She wonders if she were to allow him to paint her, how'd she look? What would change if her features were in his control, were in his fair and strong hands?

Hilda leans her head further into his grip and feels as though she could fall asleep right then and there.

"I know, Yuga," she says after a moment. "I…I'm sorry."

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. "You must understand, Your Grace, that I only want to see you safe. I've taken it upon myself to protect you and by the goddesses, I will never fail at that."

Hilda stays silent as she allows the weight of his words fall over her; his loyalty astounds her. After she's seen how Lorule despises her, how the rest of the kingdom exists – it's not even fair to say that they are _living_ at this point – she can hardly believe he's still at her side.

"Why is that, Yuga?" she boldly asks, licking her lips in anticipation.

He squints his eyes as he examines her, trying to read into her, and she feels more vulnerable now than ever. "I'm not sure what you mean, Your Grace." The cloth is thrown with a flick of his wrist and falls gracefully on her bed.

"I mean," she begins, "why do you stand by me, even when Lorule has given up on me? Why don't you pledge your allegiance to a thriving kingdom instead?" Yuga ponders her question with great sincerity, his lips pursed the slightest. Hilda's eyes are trained on them.

At long last, he stands and puts his hands on either of her shoulders. Her breath quickens and she looks up in amazement; he smirks because he understands what she thinks of. Teasing her for only a moment longer, he spins her on the velvet seat until she is looking at her reflection: her unveiled features, her cold expression.

Her advisor leans to whisper against her ear, though his eyes stare solely at his own reflection. He does not look at her and she doesn't blame him. "Do you know what I see?" he breathes against her ear. She holds her own breath and he finally meets her gaze through the mirror.

"I see a queen."

Hilda freezes in his grasp but he only tightens his hold. "When I see you, I see the future of Lorule. I see wisdom in your eyes and I see strength in your bones. Never before, in all the lands and all the men I've seen, have I seen such beauty.

"You will rule, My Grace, and for that, I will always be by your side."

Her heart bounds, it leaps, it soars, and she cannot help the smile that pulls at her lips. She lays her dirty glove over his grip on her shoulder, and he sweeps her violet hair over and across her back.

The moment is still and she couldn't be more grateful, as he presses his lips at the back of her neck.

After a lingering moment, Hilda spins back to face him and he kneels before her; his breath is steady and warm, hers trembles. With the patience of a painter, he tugs at each finger of her glove, peeling the filthy layer as though it were her second skin. He unveils her; he releases her. At last, the fabric slides off her skin and he holds his bare hand onto hers.

"We shall rule, Yuga," she promises.


End file.
